


Convictions

by TheSerpentsTooth



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Fantasy High
Genre: Found Family, Multi-classing as a sign of healing, Sparring as a show of friendship and growth, aelwyn and fabian are incredibly amicable exes, all the bad kids are in this one, lots of talk about belief, paladin!aelwyn, some tangible signs that aelwyn is growing as a person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSerpentsTooth/pseuds/TheSerpentsTooth
Summary: "It’s the dead center of the summer, the dead center of the day. It’s hot. The sweat gathering in the crease of her neck makes Aelwyn endlessly grateful that she shaved her head months ago. She couldn’t imagine doing this with waist length hair weighing her down, no matter how well it was plaited back.They’re at Seacaster Manor, on the patio again. Aelwyn has a short sword confidently in her grip."Aelwyn tries to figure out exactly what she believes in.
Relationships: Aelwen Abernant & Fabian Aramais Seacaster
Comments: 41
Kudos: 123





	Convictions

**Author's Note:**

> hello my name is haley and i love aelwyn abernant and that is the hill i will die on
> 
> no warnings for this one, unless you don't like the idea of fabian and aelwyn being the world's most amicable exes cause that's a huge portion of this whole thing, gang

Three months after the Forest of the Nightmare King, Aelwyn has her first ever ex-boyfriend.

Well they started being something basically right after, and stopped being something a month ago, but it takes that month for him to be anything to her again.

And that thing is an ex-boyfriend.

And that ex-boyfriend has invited her over to his big manor downtown to teach her how to wield a sword.

Her first response is to tell him that’s not very funny, that they are only just now talking again, and the last thing she wanted was to fall back into what they’d been doing. Not only for her sake, all of Mordred Manor sighed in relief when they found out they wouldn’t have to experience walking in on Aelwyn and Fabian one day just to hear them screaming at each other for the next three days, until Fabian came back two days after that, just for the cycle to restart. Aelwyn didn’t know what she was well enough to try and fit a new person into herself, and Fabian seemed unsure he actually wanted to try to fit into Aelwyn at all.

She told him they would be bad for each other, and they were. She’d also said it would be interesting, and it was definitely that too.

It was just good to not have to worry about it anymore. When they weren’t making out somewhere they weren’t supposed to be, or arguing about why they couldn’t just talk like adults, and why it’s unfair to expect rational conversation out of whoever was on the defensive that day, it had been kind of nice. He was a great listener when they were getting along. He was good to look at. He had been the biggest supporter of Aelwyn chopping all of her hair off.

He’d high fived her about it. Whatever reaction she’d expected to get after shaving her head, it wasn’t that.

It was nice.

He explains that he didn’t mean ‘sword wielding’ like that, that he was honestly asking if she wanted some practice with something that wasn’t magic, just in case.

She dismisses the idea.

Aelwyn isn’t a fighter. She never has been. She wishes she could have been, sometimes. But she wasn’t. Isn’t.

The only things she’s been fighting these days is her own reflection. There are still heavy bags under her eyes most days, and while she’s felt lighter since cutting her hair, her shoulders stay hunched. She’s so pale. She’s been trying not to linger in the mirror anymore.

That night Aelwyn walks into the living room to find Jawbone, Sandra Lynn, and Lydia all talking. The moment she walks in, they stop.

“Hey kiddo!” Jawbone calls.

“Hello,” Aelwyn says, politely. “What were you talking about?”

“Aw, it’s nothing,” Jawbone says. “Nothing you need to worry about anyway.”

“Are you sure? If there’s a problem I’m sure I could-”

“It’s ok, Aelwyn.” Sandra Lynn cuts her off. “You just worry about getting better, ok?”

Getting better. They all kept saying that to her. Like she knew how to do that. She nods, and leaves the room.

She texts Fabian as soon as she gets back into her room. Adaine is with him, she knows. Basrar’s, she thinks.

 _Don’t tell my sister_ , reads the last message she sends.

 _scouts honor_ , she gets back.

_You’re not a scout, idiot._

That gets her a string of emojis for her trouble, and they determine a time a few days later for her to come over.

The next few days Aelwyn hears the same things she’s heard for months.

“It’s alright, Aelwyn, we’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

“Just focus on yourself.”

“That’s what’s gonna be best for you.”

Training with Fabian couldn’t come fast enough. At least he never pretended he understood her.

She arrives to the halfling maid and a large plate full of food. The woman introduces herself as ‘Cathilda the Black’.

Aelwyn has listened to the Bad Kids recount parts of their spring break enough times to know who Cathilda the Black is. She pretends her eyes don’t widen at the introduction, and Cathilda pretends she isn’t pleased to see it. But the food is good and Cathilda seems happy she’s eating it, so that’s something at least. Aelwyn just decides not to talk, so she doesn’t say the wrong thing.

Cathilda shows her to the patio behind the large house where Fabian is already fighting the air with Fandrangor, shouting nonsense as he does.

“Master Fabian, your company’s arrived!” Cathilda shouts, placing the plate down on a side table.

“Ah!” Fabian shouts. He twirls around. “Aelwyn!”

Cathilda takes her leave, and Aelwyn is left standing awkwardly in this unfamiliar place, unsure of what she is supposed to do. She fights the urge to fidget in place, instead locking her muscles into her usual perfect posture.

Fabian is a blur of motion, like always. He’s setting Fandrangor aside and dashing to a chest on the other side of the patio, searching for something. He pulls back with a short sword in each hand, simple weapons with simple construction. The blades catch the light. Metal, sharp. No training wheels.

He hands one to her, holding the blade so she can grip the hilt. She smiles wider than she has in some time.

“I knew there was some reason I liked you.”

\---------

Aelwyn did not like Fabian anymore.

He insisted on spending that first day learning guards. No swings, no movement, just ways to hold the blade across one’s body in defense.

“I’m not going to be able to hold my own just holding up the sword,” Aelwyn grumbled, over an hour into the practice. “I’ll never take anyone down with this.’

“But they’ll have a harder time taking you down,” Fabian pointed out. “Isn’t defense kind of your whole thing?”

A jab at her school of magic. Fine. She continued practicing the guards. Short guard, with the hilt at the hip, the blade upwards and diagonal. Front guard, holding the sword vertically over the face. Half guard, holding the sword down the length of your leg.

“Wouldn’t this make more sense with long swords?” Aelwyn asked when it was over.

“Maybe,” Fabian answered. Aelwyn went home.

Adaine asks where she had gone all day.

“The library,” Aelwyn answers easily. Adaine looks suspicious, but doesn’t push.

No one ever fucking pushes.

The next time she goes to Seacaster Manor, Fabian is happy with her guards. They work on stances, on footwork. Aelwyn is terrible at it.

She trips over herself and stumbles and keeps going until it’s funny that she’s terrible at it instead of devastating. And she gets better.

The next time is parries.

The time after that is also parries.

The time after that is also parries, because parrying involves a certain amount of footwork and flow that Aelwyn just doesn’t connect with.

They keep going, meeting at least once a week, often twice, at Seacaster Manor. He teaches her forms, guards, and stances, with a patience she didn’t expect from him. She doesn’t give up.

Back at Mordred Manor, life keeps going too. Adaine is so much more than she had been before, and Aelwyn is desperate to learn everything that she had missed. They stay up late often, just talking about nothing.

It isn’t always great, of course. Aelwyn still finds herself storming out sometimes. She screams in the cemetery, digging her fingers in the mud. Sometimes she just has to be on solid ground. Towers aren’t always great for her. And Adaine doesn’t always understand, and doesn’t always listen. That’s ok. She’s a baby, she’s so young, she’s allowed to be a little bit selfish and think she knows better. Aelwyn is just also allowed to drag herself through dirt until she feels better.

Sandra Lynn corners her once when she is on her way out, asking where she’s going. Aelwyn panics, doesn’t answer, and runs. She arrives at the Seacaster’s gasping for air, crying, holding back sobs that she knows she can’t take back.

Cathilda leads her to a couch large enough to hold 12, and Aelwyn feels a little bit claustrophobic until Fabian runs in and puts a hand on her shoulder.

They don’t train. Fabian puts on a movie, something childish that is apparently a staple in everyone’s life that Aelwyn missed. He drapes himself over her lap and keeps a running commentary and holds the bowl of snacks.

When Aelwyn is heading out, she hesitates in the doorway. “Fabian?”

Fabian turns, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Fabian smiles. “No problem.”

“I mean it.”

“I know,” Fabian says. “You’re my friend, Aelwyn. That’s what friends are for.”

Aelwyn goes back to Mordred Manor. Sandra Lynn apologizes for boxing her in, and Aelwyn tells her where she’s been going.

Adaine is hanging out in Fig’s piano pit, leaving their room empty, and Aelwyn falls asleep faster than she ever has that night.

\-----------

It’s the dead center of the summer, the dead center of the day. It’s hot. The sweat gathering in the crease of her neck makes Aelwyn endlessly grateful that she shaved her head months ago. She couldn’t imagine doing this with waist length hair weighing her down, no matter how well it was plaited back.

They’re at Seacaster Manor, on the patio again. Aelwyn has a short sword confidently in her grip, even though the amount of sweat starting to drip in her palm is conspiring against her.

Fabian was pleased with her parries a few lessons ago, finally deigning to teach her lunges and advances. They’re sparring, kind of. It’s slow, careful. He parries her mediocre advance, slopes backwards, and guards, waiting for her next attack. For Fabian, this is child’s play, a fact that lights an angry fire somewhere deep in Aelwyn’s mind.

She waits for him to attack next, silently insisting on some kind of reciprocal relationship. He does, stepping in diagonal, advancing, attacking in a predictable swing that she can easily parry. The bastard.

It goes like this. Aelwyn advances. Fabian parries, slopes, steps across, pivots, guards. He really does move like a dancer. Especially next to Aelwyn, who moves like a charmingly sentient refrigerator.

“Fabian.” Advance.

“Yes?” Parry, slope, short guard.

“Adaine told me about a rather nasty day you had on that pirate island.” Diagonal, lunge.

“Did she?” Parry, step across, pivot, half guard.

“She said you were put out for some time.” Advance.

“That’s putting it lightly.” Dodge, pivot, front guard.

“And after, you were different. Lighter. A dancer and a bard.” Lunge. “A better friend, a better man. After being nothing. How did you do it?”

Fabian pauses, and tilts his head. “I guess I just found something else to believe in.”

“Something else?” Aelwyn steps in with another advance, even slower than before. “What did you believe in before?”

Parry, retreat, diagonal, short guard. He stays in that guarded stance, but he looks relaxed. It looks easy. He laughs. “Myself.”

Aelwyn’s move. Lunge. “You believe in yourself plenty. Cocky bastard.”

“Excuse you, my papa was a wonderful man,” He says. He’s still smiling. Parry, slope, front guard. An invitation.

She didn’t take it. Slope, front guard. Stepping back, demanding he come to her. He grins wildly.

“I believe in myself plenty,” He parroted back, serious now. “All I used to believe in was myself, and my papa. And he’s dead, and I’m just a guy when I’m on my own but-”

Diagonal, lunge. She parries, the hilts of the short swords crossing between them. They stay there, breathing in time.

“There’s nothing I believe in more than my friends.”

Aelwyn laughs. “And that’s what did it? The power of friendship restored you and gave you bardic abilities?”

His stupid grin is back, and he lowers his blade and unties his hair with one hand just to muss it up while he talks. “That and the power of dance. I just needed something I believed in that was stronger than all the bad stuff.”

Aelwyn raises a perfect eyebrow. “Bad stuff.”

“You know,” He bounces up on his toes, always in constant motion. “Self loathing, imposter syndrome, the stuff Jawbone talks about when he thinks he’s helping.”

Despite herself, Aelwyn finds herself smiling back. He’s still bouncing. “Uh huh.”

“Yeah. Bad stuff. There’s gotta be something that’s stronger than it for you, right?” Fabian starts tracking a bird in the sky with his good eye, still on his toes, still refusing to settle.

Advance. Checkmate.

Her blade, held firmly the whole time, rests on the long line of Fabian’s throat. His eye goes wide. He’s frozen in place. Then he laughs, big and boisterous, stepping carefully away from the business end of her weapon. He hops in a little circle and claps her on the back a little bit too hard.

“Yes! Yes!” His strong arms wrap around her middle and hoist her into the air and it’s all Aelwyn can do to keep from actually stabbing him on accident.

She’s smiling again.

He spins around once and then sets her lightly on her feet. “You got something like that?”

“I’ll think on it.”

\----

She did think on it.

What does Aelwyn Abernant believe in above everything else?

Shit, how is she supposed to know?

Aelwyn believes in magic? In power?

The next day, Aelwyn goes to find Figueroth. It is early in the day, and she’s just hoping Fig is awake.

The grand piano is flipped upside down the way it’s always been, Fig’s nest of blankets and pillows starting to spill up over into the rest of the room. It isn’t a lot of privacy, but Aelwyn knows Fig has found many hidden passages and rooms nearby that she has claimed for herself with the rest of her possessions. Aelwyn hasn’t gone exploring, is a little turned off by the idea of squeezing between the walls with no idea where she’d end up, but she has heard bass lines from impossible places.

Before she makes it to the piano hole, a young woman with fire for hair and wings is walking out of it with perfect posture. She’s overcompensating for something. Aelwyn would know.

“Ayda.” Aelwyn nods in her direction.

Ayda pauses. “Aelwyn Abernant. I am sorry I can’t stay to talk with you. I am going back to Leviathan for the day.”

“That’s alright. Are you ok?”

“No.” Ayda opens the door in the living room that didn’t exist a couple of months ago with a flick of her finger, and bright sunshine spills into the room with the smell of brine and dust. “I hope to see you again soon.”

With that, she’s gone. The door is closed again, and no one will be able to open it to chase after her. Not that anyone is trying to. The frustrated groan from the pit says that it might be awhile until someone tries.

“Figueroth?” Aelwyn asks. She sits with her legs dangling into the tiefling’s bedroom. “Everything ok?”

Fig sits up, angry eyes immediately locking onto Aelwyn. “Like you care.”

Aelwyn stays silent, until Fig sighs, groans again, rolls over, and then sits back up. “Whatever. It’s stupid. What do you want?”

“I wanted to ask you what you believe about power.”

That wipes the childish angst off of her face. “What?”

“I thought if anyone here would have convictions about power, it would be the archdevil. I assume one would have to believe in their power to harness as much of it and as powerfully as a high ranking devil does, no?” Aelwyn looked down from her vantage point, hoping she was making sense.

“Oh. Um, I mean, I get my power from like, the concept of rebellion. I don’t have to believe in it, it’s just strong as long as I don’t listen to the man,” Fig says. “I just have to stay away from the system, you know?”

“Rebellion,” Aelwyn says. She was never very good at that. Not really. Especially not when it mattered. Figueroth didn’t have the conviction she needed to learn from, not about something Aelwyn could also have conviction in.

“Well, thank you for explaining that to me.”

“Uh, sure.” Fig watches her stand, looking confused now. “Was that all you wanted?”

Aelwyn rolls her shoulders back and stretches. “What did you do to upset your paramor so terribly?”

Fig flops back down. “Ugh, it’s- I- I don’t know. I said something stupid. She took it bad, which is fair. I don’t know why she just left like that.”

She buried her face back into her nest.

Aelwyn doesn’t know a lot about relationships. But she knows a thing or two. She puts on the most genuine face she has and makes eye contact with the small archdevil she cohabitates with. “And you will never know why, or get a chance to say something less stupid, if you don’t just talk to her. Clear up the misunderstanding as best you can. I’m sure she isn’t mad at you, Figueroth, she is likely just mad at what you said.”

Fig lifts her face again to look incredibly unimpressed back at Aelwyn. “Coming from someone who had a tantrum in the cemetery anytime Fabian did literally anything.”

“Precisely.”

So that wasn’t as helpful as she had been hoping.

\---------

Aelwyn believes in strength as an asset, as something that is important but never an absolute?

Yes, it’s a little abstract, but she’s sure with a little conversation she can get it compressed into a strong conviction.

It feels really weird to open the door to the little ‘rec room’. It’s nearly midday by the time she works up the courage. But if she wants to ask questions about strength, this is the first place she knows to go. She pushes open the door and slowly steps inside, taking in the sights.

Ragh Barkrok has been living here just as long as Aelwyn, but he has never seemed out of place. This room was filled with weights, resistance bands, bars mounted to the ceiling, and a tasteful foosball table in the corner.

That’s where she finds Ragh now, hollering at Gorgug as he scored a point for his little  
plastic team.

“Oh, hey, Aelwyn!” He shouts when he notices her. “What’s up? Wanna play a round?”

She goes to turn him down, but pauses. “Yeah, sure. I’ll play the winner.”

“That’s me, dude!” Raugh shouts. “Hop in!”

Gorgug graciously steps away from the table, allowing her to step in. “Thank you.”

“Ah, no problem,” Gorgug answers. “I should be getting back to my sets anyway.”

Aelwyn watches him easily pick up something she wouldn’t have been able to drag across a slick surface, and turns back to Ragh. She isn’t confident about the rules, but she moves to hit the ball and the game begins.

As they play, and Ragh yells and whoops, Aelwyn speaks up. “Ragh, why did you work so hard to get so strong?”

He looks surprised. “Uh, it wasn’t happening when I wasn’t trying so hard. You gotta really dig deep and get in there and hustle, you know? That’s how you make your gains. Yo, Aelwyn, you trying to get gains?”

“No.”

She answers too quickly, and he looks a little sad. “Maybe later. I’m trying to figure out some things.”

Ragh grunts. “Well, getting jacked is kind of the one thing I know, so if that’s what you want you came to the right guy.”

“Hey,” Gorgug pipes up. “You know all kinds of stuff.”

“Thank you, man!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

_“Yeah!”_

“What would you do if that strength went away?”

“Uh.” It’s quiet for a minute.

“Well,” Gorgug says. He puts down the weight. “I’ve been through a lot of weird stuff, and sometimes it wasn’t super helpful to be super strong, but it never went away. At least not forever. It was always going to be helpful later! Cause it was never gone. And I don’t think your strengths are gone either, Aelwyn.”

That is-

That is very sweet. And very not the point.

Aelwyn sighs. “Thank you, Gorgug.”

She steps away from the table. “I don’t think I’m very good at this game, Ragh, but thank you for inviting me to play.”

“Yeah, of course dude, anytime,” Ragh says. “And hey! I think you’re pretty strong, too.”

“Thank you, Ragh.”

She feels foolish for ever entering in the first place, for thinking her convictions could lie in strength. Physical or otherwise.

She leaves.

\----------------

Aelwyn believes in things being taken away, maybe. That nothing will stick.

It takes another few hours of pacing for her to walk out to the chapel. The deity who has recently moved in is out for the day, or Aelwyn would have never found the strength to show her face there.

She raps her knuckles against the door before walking in. The whole manor has learned to by now.

Tracker is leaving in a few days for her spiritual journey, and she’s taking Ragh with her. Ragh has been preparing by seeming to not even remember he’s leaving. Tracker has been preparing by getting her kisses in.

Aelwyn walks down the aisle of the chapel, looking for the saint the forest created. There is no trace of her here.

It’s not fair to expect her to be where Aelwyn needs her. Her partner is leaving so soon, for no one knows how long. Kristen has earned the chance to say her goodbyes however she needs to.

After all, Aelwyn came out here to ask about transience and loss.

The banners here are blue and purple and question marks and stars. Kristen built all of this on the bones of a religion that spit her out and left her in the dust. She was alone and adrift and had to find all of her own answers. Literal blood, sweat, and tears went into forging Saint Kristen Applebees.

Sitting in the little pews, Aelwyn thinks that she probably didn’t need to ask anyone about their experiences with loss.

And if she really pretends, she can’t hear the aggressive sounds of werewolf sex down the hall.

\---------------

Aelwyn believes in Adaine?

She goes out to the cemetery. For once, she does so with a clear mind and dry eyes. The ghost tethered there looks at her, clearly impressed.

“Aelwyn. You look well,” Zayn says.

“Zayn, do you believe in Adaine?” Aelwyn asks.

The spirit looks flustered. His hands fly to the rat on his shoulder, soothing themselves over its fur. “What? Why?”

“Do you believe in her? You're friends, right?”

Zayn sits on top of a nearby tombstone. “Yeah, we’re cool. She’s real cool. I believe that she can do whatever she wants to, she’s pretty strong. She’s great. It’s good to have a wizard friend.”

“Yeah,” Aelwyn says. She follows his lead and sits down as well, though she sits on the ground instead. “She’s a good friend to have.”

She leans back against the tombstone Zayn is sitting on. She looks out at the sunset, and stays long after it gets dark.

\----------

Aelwyn believes in... knowing stuff. _Knowing_ before feeling or hoping.

Riz is in the living room at 1:00 am. This is not his house, nor is it his office, but it is not the first time this has happened. There are bags under his eyes, and his surprisingly nice hair is flat and limp. He is starting to vibrate a little bit. This is also not the first time this has happened.

Aelwyn is kind of sick of today, and throws herself onto the couch next to him. His notebook flies out of his hands and he shouts.

“What are you working on?”

Riz grabs his notebook from across the room, giving Aelwyn a glimpse of chicken scratch handwriting scrawled wildly across the paper, tearing through it in place. “Oh, um, yes. I was thinking back to the Nightmare King who is now not the Nightmare King and about how the crown is locked up again with Augefort, and I thought surely there is a better place where we could maybe bury it somewhere or put it wherever he was keeping Lydia, because it’s not that I don’t trust Augefort but I know that there’s-”

“Excellent. Do you believe that knowledge should be placed before all feelings, sentiments, and hopes?”

Riz stills. His manic energy all drains out at once and he looks almost hurt. His tail droops and drags on the ground, his ears dipping too. “Did- did someone say that?”

“No.” Aelwyn crosses her legs and leans back. “I was just wondering if that’s a belief you hold.”

“Oh.” Riz is confused. “Um, not all sentiments? And feelings? That’s something I’ve been working on? You know, listening to feelings first, and then talking clues. Friends, then clues.”

“But you value the knowledge still?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s still true? It’s just not, like, the only thing.” Riz is sitting again, on the very opposite end of the couch, eyeing her cautiously.

“Right. Then what do you believe comes before it?”

“Does something have to come before it? Or can it just go along with the other stuff? I believe in knowledge, and objective truth, and stuff. But I’ve also got friends now,” Riz says.

Aelwyn huffs. “That’s not actually helpful.”

The door creaks open ever so slightly, but the noise is huge. A helpful snout sticks through the crack. “Is it alright if I add my two cents, folks?”

Jawbone walks in, three mugs in his hands. He carefully sets one in front of Aelwyn, steam still curling up from the light colored liquid inside.

“It’s tea,” He says. “Just how you always take it.”

He sets another in front of Riz, the contents much darker. “Same for you.”

Aelwyn starts. “I didn’t know you liked tea, Riz.”

Riz is already guzzling it down, so Jawbone answers instead. “He prefers his tea to be coffee. Hope you don’t mind that I heard y’all talking.”

“It’s alright,” Aelwyn says. “It’s a bit par for the course around here, you might as well say your piece.”

Jawbone smiles and relaxes back into the big overstuffed armchair next to the couch. “Lot of talk about belief from you lately. Lot of talk about knowledge, too. I am a little concerned about the talk of that knowledge being the only thing you believe in.”

“I’m trying to figure it out,” Aelwyn admits. She feels smaller than she has in months, and a little bit lost. “I just need something to believe in at the end of all this.”

Jawbone takes a deep breath and stands, moving to resettle by Aelwyn on the couch, between her and Riz. Riz subtly shifts a few inches away and nurses the rest of his coffee.

“This might sound off to you, but maybe you’re thinking about it too hard? You shouldn’t have to dig into your soul to figure out what you think and what you believe, kiddo. That’s already right in your head, and right in your heart. Your friends aren’t the ones holding it.”

Aelwyn’s eyes closed while Jawbone spoke. They’re hot and stinging, her face is flushed, and she is not about to embarrass herself any further than she already has today. “I don’t know what I think.”

“What’s your instinct? I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to just answer, ok? Knee jerk response, don’t think. You’ve been through a lot, Aelwyn. A whole hell of a lot. After all that, what do you still believe in?”

“That I can be stronger than it.”

She doesn’t allow herself to doubt what she’s saying. It feels good, one sharp breath whooshing out at once. She knows, at her core, that beneath every negative feeling that’s battered her, that she speaks the truth.

“Than it?”

“What happened. Experience. Reality.”

Jawbones whistled. “Mind over matter, huh?”

“Mind over everything.”

“Hell yes,” Riz piped up from the couch. He swivels to fully face the two of them, feet on the couch, empty mug dangling from his fingers. “That’s so sick.”

\------

_Mind over matter._

Aelwyn holds the short sword firmly. Her tanned hands look strong in the fading light of day. Long shadows cast across the patio of Seacaster Manor. Fabian looks back at her, good eye shining.

She advances.

_Mind over experience._

Diagonal, lunge.

Fabian’s smile doesn’t slip. Parry, slide, short guard.

_Mind over trauma._

Aelwyn smiles back. Pivot, step across, advance.

He parries again, fades. Advances.

_Mind over reality._

Aelwyn parries him now, slopes back, forgoes a guard to pivot and advance again.

Fabian meets her blade with a clang, they both step back, grin at each other, and Fabian steps in for another attack.

The sword is not the weapon.

Aelwyn is.

It’s so easy after that. Advance, parry, guard, lunge.

Pivot, short guard.

Step across, front guard.

Advance.

Lunge.

Advance.

Aelwyn is stepping faster now, moving more smoothly than she ever has before. Her body isn’t controlling the blade, her clumsy hands aren’t part of the equation. Her mind, sharpened by time and rigorous study, clearer now than it was even before her arrest, her exploits with a dragon, possibly clearer than ever, her mind is controlling her movements and controlling the blade. She feels giddy with the realization. She didn’t need to believe in anything but this.

And then her blade finds Fabian’s collarbone and slices the skin.

They both freeze. Blood wells up in the wound, spilling onto the white tank top he wears for their practices. His eye is wide. He can’t look away.

Aelwyn rushes forward, blade clattering to the ground. “I am so sorry! Fabian, Fabian I am so sorry!”

His open hands reach out. “It’s ok, it’s ok, I’ll be ok, don’t-”

Aelwyn already has a hand on him. “I can, I can go find Cathilda or, or- Fabian I am so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, I’m ok it’s just-”

“No, I am so-”

“Don’t-”

“I-”

They both freeze again.

A pale blue light pours out of Fabian’s wound. Aelwyn’s hands pulse with the same light. It’s warm, and comforting. The light reflects off of both of them, coloring the whole moment.

After a few seconds, the light pulses one last time and fades. Fabian’s wound is gone.

His sword falls to the ground, and he envelops Aelwyn in a hug. She embraces him in return, stunned.

“Looks like someone found her thing.”

Maybe they have her strike Fabian again in a little bit just to see if she can patch him up again afterwards. She can, if she thinks about it. It isn’t automatic, which is a little bit comforting.

And she can only do it a few times. Eventually the tank runs out and she helps a bleeding and giggling Fabian inside, where Cathilda has to face two laughing children and try to figure out how to help them.

After, when Fabian is bandaged up and Aelwyn has apologized again, they are laying across his big fancy couch. He looks over at her. “You know, we could probably hook you up with Halo St. Croix, back at Augefort.”

“You know I don’t know who that is, Fabian.”

“The Paladin teacher.”

Aelwyn smiles. “I don’t know, Fabian.”

“Hey,” He responds. “Only if you want.”

“I’ll think on it.”

She will think on it. Tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. Tonight, she conjures minor elementals just to prove she still can, and tries to animate objects just to realize she can’t, but that she isn’t too put out.

Fabian walks with her all the way back to Mordred Manor and they bully each other the whole way. He sleeps on the couch and she sleeps in the room she shares with her sister, and in the morning they’ll both regale the family with their tales. Tonight she’ll go to sleep knowing she’s one step closer to where she’s supposed to be.

She dreams about swords, and running them through Arianwen. She dreams about energy whipping out from her mind and knocking down her enemies. She dreams about finally, finally, finally, being able to pick Adaine up from that battlefield and healing her wounds, never letting her drop again.

She wakes up laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> she's an oath of enlightenment paladin! it's a super cool homebrew-y subclass, take a peek if you're interested. 
> 
> well she's got three paladin levels, and i think probably seven abjuration wizard levels.
> 
> lemme know what you think, i'm pretty proud of this beast but if you noticed any issues do let me know. she is not betaed and i do most of my writing and editing at like 3 am.
> 
> catch me on tumblr! @serpents-tooth


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